


The Brightest I've Seen

by geckoholic



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Desperation, Established Relationship, Kink Discovery, Light Bondage, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Remix, Suit Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-10 08:51:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15945932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: Yata should hate the stupid blue uniform. He really should. He did, for awhile.





	The Brightest I've Seen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scribblemyname](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemyname/gifts).
  * Inspired by [In Your Dreams](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14069925) by [WriteItSmall (scribblemyname)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemyname/pseuds/WriteItSmall). 



> I had SUCH a hard time picking just one to remix. (And I didn't; there's at least one more running around on my hard drive, though I didn't quite manage to finish that. XD) In the end, this little pornlet won the race, lol. Hope you enjoy. ♥ 
> 
> Beta-read by matcha. Thank you! ♥ All remaining mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Title is from "Piece Of Your Heart" by Mayday Parade.

He should hate the stupid blue uniform. He really should. He did, for awhile. But it's damn hard to keep up the hatred of Saruhiko's not-so-new color when they've reconciled, moved back in together, and he looks _so damn good_ in it. See, he filled out a bit, in all the right places. He never buttons his shirt fully and Yata has spent many a sleepless night thinking about the little peek of Saruhiko's collarbones and pecs that he's treated to on the regular. Which is ridiculous. He's seen Saruhiko _naked_ plenty of times. No, wait. That's present tense, actually. Rather fresh, and still somewhat fragile, but they're dating again. They're having sex again. And yet, what robs him of a good night's sleep four nights out of seven is a little sliver of skin lurking out of a dress-shirt. 

But it's not just the dress-shirt. Everything would be so much easier if it were just the dress-shirt. 

The tailored coat accentuates Saruhiko's slim hips – which, like the rest of him, are a different, even more magnificent brand of slim than they used to be – in a way that's nothing short of perfect. It's like he was born to wear the coat. Yata really rather doubts dress codes and how one fits into them are a criteria when it comes to matching clansmen to their destined king, but. Given current evidence, he wouldn't rule it out either. And yeah, uh. The color itself. It suits Saruhiko, highlights his eyes, and the contrast of the strict design of the uniform against his less-than-military hairstyle is a hundred percent Saruhiko in ways Yata couldn't ever find the words to explain. More so when it's slightly disheveled, after a long and exhausting day during which Saruhiko ran his hands through it every other minute while thinking through codes and problems and – 

Yeah. No. Yata screws his eyes shut and reprimands himself, calls himself to some sort of discipline, because he's not exactly eager to admit to Saruhiko that he's getting turned on by the _uniform_ and so all this fantasying is for naught. He shifts on the bed, for once glad they're still sleeping in their own bunks, and wills his blossoming erection to go down. He tries to think of the weeks, no, months of teasing he'll have to endure if Saruhiko ever finds out, and to his chagrin, that's not as much of a boner-killer as it, by all rights, should be. 

 

***

 

The thing is, discipline is Saruhiko's strong suit. Yata can be stoic if it's about battles and fighting and did, at some point, figure out how to follow commands and bend to a strategy, but his wandering mind is a whole different matter altogether. That takes no orders, least of all from him, and so the situation is bound to escalate sooner or later. 

And escalate it does, on a cold Monday afternoon in early November. HOMRA's territory is quiet today and Yata went home early, but Saruhiko is still on shift. Yata feels a little bad, sitting here in boxers and t-shirt and watching bad foreign movies on TV while his boyfriend is out on duty, but not bad enough to actually do something about it. He made some Gyudon and left half of it on the counter for Saruhiko to eat when he comes back. That ought to be enough. 

The picture Saruhiko makes as he finally saunters through the front door is so close to Yata's barely-avoided wet dreams that it steals his breath away for a few seconds. His hair. The slightly off-kilter look of the uniform. He starts unbuttoning the coat the second he steps into the apartment. All of Yata's blood migrates south so fast he's vaguely afraid he might pass out on the spot. 

“Hey,” he manages, even as his cheeks are starting to feel warmer than usual. “Welcome back.” 

Saruhiko inclines his head at him, squinting. “What's going on with you?” 

Yata files through a few convenient lies, but he discards them all. Keeping the uniform situation to himself was difficult enough while it was locked up inside his own filthy, wandering, treacherous mind. Now that Saruhiko pegged something's going on, he won't rest until he figures it out. 

“I, uh,” Yata stammers, any notion of being smooth about this destroyed from the get-go. “I. I like the way you look.” 

Saruhiko looks down his own body, disbelieving. “You like how I look covered in sweat and in need of a bath, wearing a uniform you hate?" On hearing the last few words, Yata has to swallow, and of course Saruhiko processes that new tidbit of information immediately. "It's the uniform? After you told me, on numerous occasions, how much you always hated it for being evidence that I left HOMRA?” 

“Yeah,” Yata confirms, and then lets out an undignified whine. “I did.” 

Saruhiko's eyes narrow further. He must have noticed the past tense, too. Of course he did. It's part of his shtick to notice details like that. “You... did?” 

And then a grin spreads over his face, somewhat predatory, recognizing easy prey. He strides towards Yata with a determined look that makes Yata squirm under his gaze. In a good way. Mostly. 

Nevertheless, Yata rises to his feet, because it has always been a basic fact of their relationship that they will give each other no quarter. Yata isn't about to just sit there and be devoured, and he knows Saruhiko wouldn't expect that of him either. 

Yata meats Saruhiko halfway, takes his hand, and steers him towards a pile of cushions near their beds that has been used for this exact purpose before and that Saruhiko tolerates for that exact reason. He pushes at Saruhiko's chest and Saruhiko yields, letting himself collapse onto the pillows. Yata pulls his shirt over his head and and throws it aside, and Saruhiko reaches for his own chest to start unbuttoning his coat the rest of the way, but Yata catches his wrist with one hand and shakes his head, smirking. 

“Leave it on,” he demands. 

He presses Saruhiko's arm down, stretched out above his head, and his stomach makes a funny little somersault when Saruhiko allows him to gather his other arm as well and pin them both to the floor with one hand. Yata rushes in to kiss him, deep and filthy, and lodges one knee between Saruhiko's slightly bent legs. That produces a moan, and the noise takes the expressway to Yata's cock, making it twitch with need. 

Yata pulls at his own boxers, inelegantly, with one hand, and shifts so he can grind his bare erection against Saruhiko's clothed one instead. He's making a mess and he knows it, already leaking, rubbing droplets of precome into the expensive fabric, but he'll think about how to clean that later. Because Saruhiko will absolutely make that his problem. Right now, Yata is fine with that. A fair price for living out a fantasy he had for _weeks_. 

He abandons his grip on Saruhiko's arms, removing his hand slowly in a way he hopes telegraphs that he wants him to hold the position, and works the thus unoccupied hand up his left sleeve. Yata knows about each and every weapon Saruhiko keeps on his person. Not only has he seen the Saruhiko in various states of undress numerous times, he also used to be his sounding board and training partner while Saruhiko honed his special skill and decided what holster went where and what went into it. He makes shameless use of that knowledge now. The coat is tight enough that it's rather awkward to grope around for the holster but he manages, first carefully removing the knife and then unlatching the holster from Saruhiko's arm. He repeats the same action on Saruhiko's left side and both his ankles. 

By the time he's finished with that, Saruhiko is grinning at him with an expression that's half taunt – using that off-kilter smirk he perfected while they were at odds – and half confusion. 

“That was unnecessarily complicated,” Saruhiko remarks. “There's a much easier way to disarm me, you know.” 

“Shut it,” Yata snarls back, glaring at Saruhiko. At least three different rejoinders form in the back of his head with practiced ease, but for once he bites them all back. That would be a distraction. He's going to keep his eye on the prize here. 

He simply discarded the ankle holsters, but they're still within easy reach. He snatches on of them up and holds it up, dangling it from one finger which makes Saruhiko raise one eyebrow in question, then wraps it around Saruhiko's wrists before he an think twice about and buckles it shut. 

Saruhiko's eyes widen, but he's starting to look rather worked up, needy even, and he shoots Yata a challenging smirk while he's testing his improvised restraint. It wouldn't withstand any serious attempts at getting free, but it'll do for this as a symbol, an experiment, just to test the waters. 

“Comfortable?” Yata asks, grinning back at him. He rubs his hard cock against Saruhiko again, whose interest in the proceedings quite obviously hasn't waned in the meantime either, and gets rewarded with a rather gratifying loud moan. “What do you think, should I make you come in your pants?”

Saruhiko mutters something that sounds vaguely like a threat, and Yata takes that as his cue to actually start getting them both off. He reaches between their bodies. It's awkward in this position, and it takes forever, but he eventually manages to unbutton Saruhiko's trousers and open them just enough so he can free Saruhiko's dick. Someone more patient and with more of a penchant for strategic thinking and less of a yearning for immediate gratification would draw this out, come up with more fun things for them to do without removing the uniform in its entirety, but Yata's priorities being as they are, he immediately wraps his hand around them both and starts stroking. They can do this again, take their time, make it a proper game. Right now, he just... he just _needs_. 

Saruhiko bucks his hips up, pushing into Yata's hand and moaning, and Yata doesn't even make an attempt at skill or finesse. He works them hard and fast, only their mixed precome slicking the way, and it doesn't take long until Saruhiko spills first, over Yata's hand and his own goddamn uniform, and Yata blinks, staring at the strings of come soiling the pristine blue threads. He follows with a deep, guttural moan, breathing hard, and collapses onto his side next to Saruhiko. 

Yata unbuckles the misappropriated holster around Saruhiko's arms and throws it aside to join the others on the floor, and Saruhiko leans up a little bit, staring at the mess they made together. His hand hovers over the stains on the uniform, but he doesn't touch them. He sinks back against the cushions instead, eyes closed, licking his lips. 

“You know you'll have to take care of this,” he decrees, deadpan, which loses some of its effect due to the fact that he's still somewhat out of breath. “Dry clean only.”

Yata groans and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, sure.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://lostemotion.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/spacenerdz).


End file.
